


Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)

by platonicharmonics



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Aromantic Dutch van der Linde, Autistic Arthur Morgan, Cowboy Dads, Demisexual Hosea Matthews, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rodeo Competitions, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonicharmonics/pseuds/platonicharmonics
Summary: After a kerfuffle in Arkansas, the Old Guard ride north into the Missouri Ozarks, where they stumble upon a very curious local festival that folk call a "Rodeo." They proceed to take a break from their lives as outlaws to instead spend a day as a family - and then, Dutch and Hosea spend a night to themselves.ORArthur gets two (2) piggy-back rides, and then Dutch rides Hosea.(Explicit content only in second chapter)
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 28
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. I really wanted to write something for Pride month before it ended, specifically for my favorite set of cowboys, and this idea came to me as the most perfect Pride tribute I could muster - a celebration of queerness, of queer men having families, of the importance of rodeos to queer folk, and of queer lives in Rural Poor America. All of which are very important to me.
> 
> This entire fic is pure self-indulgence, so I only did cursory research into the history of rodeos to find out that the first recorded ones were in the early 1880s around Texas. Latinx communities played a huge role in the development of rodeos, and the cowboys that participated in them were composed in large part by Latino men, black men, and indigenous folk. I also know that intimacy between cowboys on the range wasn't unheard of, nor were intimate same-sex relationships in certain rural areas ostracized. Is it realistic for there to be an interracial rodeo full of queer men in Missouri in 1880? It is in this fic, because quite frankly I'm not in the mood for historical hatred and bullshit in my fluffy Pride tribute when we deal with enough of these things still in the modern day.
> 
> Lastly, I'd like to drop a song here by Orville Peck, [Queen of the Rodeo (feat. Roses are Falling)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VoHzlALxp0), which is also a magnificent tribute to queer folk in the rodeo industry - and this man's entire music is pretty much a tribute to rural queer folk in general. I wrote this fic while listening to it.
> 
> Happy Pride, cowfolk [tips hat]
> 
> Some quick ages:  
> Arthur - 17  
> Dutch - 25  
> Hosea - 35

**_Missouri, 1880_ **

Arthur was seventeen years old, and two-and-a-half years older than he ever expected to live.

If he was truly honest, he was  _ five  _ years older than he ever expected to live. When that rope snapped around his father’s neck, he half expected his own neck to snap from where he was standing in the crowd, watching because it seemed like he couldn’t really do anything else but watch. His father always did tell him that he was a good-for-nothing, useless burden that wouldn’t last ten seconds without him. He remembered counting up to ten after his father stopped moving, then eleven, then twenty, then lost track somewhere around seventy, mostly because he’d forgotten the word for seventy. 

He could still count the years he lived without his father, though. Living on the streets, rummaging through garbage, begging, and weathering winter in empty buildings or barns snuggled up to stray dogs or cats or horses took him a long way - got him to a year, but eventually his shoes wore out and fell apart and his clothes grew gaping holes in them, and the paltry few cents folk would put in his hat dried right up when his baby fat fully wore off and his voice dropped. He’d got spit more often than not when he tried to beg after that. That was when he started stealing. That got him to two years.

It was about six months after that he decided to snatch the satchel of a broad-shouldered feller with a mane of black curls. He had a long, smooth, rounded-out face and talked real loud to his tall blonde friend who was all scowls and angles. They were standing in front of a storefront window, one of the real fancy stores that sold expensive things, and they were bickering, so Arthur figured that they were distracted enough and rich enough for him to ignore the gun belts sitting heavy on their hips.

He snatched the satchel.

They chased him.

They caught him.

He’d been fully prepared for them to pull their guns on him and shoot him, or stab him, or beat him, and it was all he could do to curl up into a ball and whimper and wait for the inevitable violence.

Instead, they… looked at each other, joked with each other, laughed with each other, all fond looks and smiles like they just played a fun game, and the dark-haired man held his hand out and said, “You gotta work on those thieving skills, son! How would you like to learn from a couple of  _ masters?” _

That was when Arthur started up a whole different clock. Instead of counting how many years he could last without his father, he started counting how many years he was… living, truly _ living,  _ with the miracles that were Dutch and Hosea.

“Whatcha smilin’ ‘bout back there?”

Arthur blinked up at Dutch from where the man was grinning back at him atop Empress, his bay American quarter-horse, his eyes all crinkled up. A look to the side showed him Hosea riding alongside, looking at him with one of those soft, fond looks he got that replaced his scowls. He had a lot of soft, fond looks for Dutch, and it took a while for him to give Arthur similar looks, only… different. But they were special, unique for him. He worked his fingers into Boadicea’s mane to keep his hands from flapping the reins to channel the emotions that made him feel, but that just reminded him of how the two men spent damn near a thousand dollars on the big raven black Ardennes as… a  _ birthday gift. _ Because they  _ remembered, _ and thought his birth was worth  _ celebrating.  _

He wondered when he would stop being surprised by them, and figured he never would.

“Well?” Dutch prompted again.

Hosea chuckled warmly, patting his young gray Turkoman colt on the neck. Silver Dollar was the one stolen thing they actually managed to get out of Arkansas, and Arthur figured the sweet horse was treasure enough. “Can’t the boy smile in peace, Dutch?”

Dutch huffed. “Well  _ excuse  _ my curiosity for what’s got him in such a good mood! You’re usually all pouty, boy! I’m relieved to no longer be the only one producing some goddamn optimism!”

“After that mess in Arkansas, it’s a miracle he’s not pouting. I know  _ I’m _ pouting.”

“You’re always pouting.”

“Arthur will be pouting with me soon enough if we don’t get some goddamn  _ money.” _

“That woman needed it more than us and you damn well know it.”

“Charity won’t put food in our stomachs.”

“But your rifle  _ will, _ so quit your bellyachin’!”

Arthur resituated himself in the saddle and laughed at their antics. The tension that had been growing in their shoulders and the weight dragging their smiles down eased away at the sound, that softness returning to them once more. Arthur thought through his words before saying, “We’ll be all right, Hosea.”

Hosea heaved a dramatic sigh while Dutch chuckled and winked back at Arthur. Dutch then turned back towards the trail and gestured widely at the rocky hills, waves of grass, and pockets of scraggly woods that surrounded them. “We are in the  _ Ozarks, _ gentlemen! A land of the working man! We just need to find ourselves a town, sniff out whatever forces are taking advantage of folk, and rob them blind! We take what we need, give away the rest, and move on, like always! One minor setback doesn’t make this any different!”

Arthur perked up in his saddle. “Ain’t that a town over there?”

Dutch and Hosea turned their heads to follow his gaze, and all of them relaxed at the definite sight of a town on the horizon.

Dutch made a victorious crow. “See?  _ Faith, _ Hosea! Have faith in the world, and she will provide!”

Hosea rolled his eyes like his soul was leaving his body through them, and Arthur laughed again as he nudged Boadicea to run after Dutch, who was galloping off into the distance.

\--

When they got to the town, it wasn’t what they expected. Namely, because when they arrived, it was abandoned.

Arthur squinted at all of the pristine buildings and freshly-painted signs of the town’s main street, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Where is everyone?”

Dutch was also peering around at the empty town, suspicious, while Hosea analyzed the tracks on the ground, his mouth a grave line. All three of them snatched their heads up when they heard the loud rattle of a wagon approaching them, accompanied by a gaggle of jubilant, excited screams, banjo plucks, and cheery harmonica notes.

A draft horse was pulling a wagon full of a family of twelve at an urgent canter, and all the people on and hanging off the wagon looked ecstatic. The man driving it lifted his hat at the three of them and hollered  _ “Come along, you three, you’re gonna miss the rodeo!” _

“Rodeo?” Arthur parroted immediately, watching the wagon as it barreled past, eyeing how the people and children inside, barefoot and in dirt-stained clothes, waved excitedly at them and gestured them to follow.

A slow, wary smile grew on Dutch’s face as he glanced at Hosea. “You ever heard of a rodeo before?”

Hosea huffed. “No, but what I  _ do _ hear is a dead silent town ripe for the picking.” He made a grand gesture at a bank, its windows dark. “Look at that, these people are  _ morons. _ Now come on!”

“But-” Arthur started, then cinched his jaw shut.

Dutch and Hosea turned to look at him. Not angry and challenging at the interjection or for speaking out of turn, just… expectant. Arthur’s body still tensed in expectation of a strike out of habit, but the reaction was getting less and less potent, less and less frequent.

Hosea had that soft look again. “What’s on your mind, dear boy?”

Arthur’s held breath eased out of his lungs like a child down a slide, his muscles unclenching with it. Hosea used to be very… stoic, in the beginning, and Arthur had been more wary of him than he had Dutch, who was very fast and loose with his terms of endearment and affection while Hosea mostly stuck with a reserved  _ kid, _ but something in Hosea had eroded over time like wind and water grinding stone away to reveal gold, only instead of gold it was warm affectionate touches and looks in place of professional distance, and an ever-increasing frequency of words like  _ son  _ and  _ dear boy _ and  _ my boy. _ It felt genuine - earned. It made Arthur feel safe in a way Dutch never quite managed.

He realized he got lost in his thoughts again, and he felt a pang of thankfulness that Dutch and Hosea were patient with him. He struggled with his words a lot, another leftover reaction from being smacked in the mouth too many times for speaking or making noises, but both Dutch and Hosea kept making it clear that they liked hearing him speak, hearing his thoughts. Valued them, even. Therefore, it was with that that he finally found the peace to say, “But I wanna go to the rodeo.”

Hosea breathed in a slow breath and gently rolled his head side-to-side, shrugging. “We don’t even know what that is, son. And we desperately need m-”

_ “Aw come on,” _ Dutch drawled, sending Arthur a wink, and Arthur gave him a small smile. He could always count on Dutch to be in his corner, and Arthur always tried his best to return the favor. Dutch fixed Hosea with a shit-eating grin. “We can check it out! We don’t ‘desperately’ need money, men have been living off the land just fine for millenia without that despicable social construct we call  _ money, _ and this town seems full of poor folk just tryin’ to make a living. We’d be giving the money right back to them anyway. Now come on, Hosea, the boy wants to go!”

Hosea looked frantically between the both of them - Dutch with his impish smirk and twinkle in his eye, and Arthur with his wide earnest eyes and parted lips. He grimaced for a long moment, then sighed and rubbed at his temple.  _ “Okay, _ we can go to the rode-”

“C’mon Arthur!” Dutch yelled with a laughing  _ whoop, _ turning Empress and spurring her into a gallop after the family’s wagon. Arthur let himself laugh with him and spurred Boadicea to follow him, not needing to to look over his shoulder to know that Hosea was following and shaking his head with a smile behind them.

\--

When they followed the wagon to a shabby ranch a couple miles away from the town, they were stunned to find the property flooded with dozens upon dozens of wagons and no less than a hundred horses hitched up to every available surface on the outskirts of the commotion. A massive crowd mingled around a large corral in the center of the property, and scores of people of all different races were sitting in makeshift wooden bleachers. Open-air tents were littered everywhere, full of people selling handmade crafts and clothes and tack. White smoke rose from at least three different places, carrying with it the smell of smoked meat. Arthur spotted at least two men dressed as clowns with flamboyant fringed chaps walking around, and as he examined the crowd further, amongst the families there with their children, he also spotted a fair number of men sitting closely, holding hands, or even exchanging kisses with no one batting an eye. Everyone appeared to be either a cowboy or a farmer, and there wasn’t a single businessman or lawman in sight.

Dutch slowed Empress to a stop and dismounted, gaping nonstop at the scene in front of them. After a long moment, he mused, “Men, I don’t know exactly what I’m looking at, but I feel like it’s some kind of revelation.”

“I’ll be damned,” Hosea said absently, too stunned to move from Silver Dollar’s back.

Arthur dismounted from Boadicea and hitched her to the nearest post, feeding her an oatcake and patting her cheek with a low cooing noise before walking up to Dutch’s side, bouncing on the balls of his feet and patting his thighs. “Should we go check it out?”

“Now hang on-” Hosea started.

Dutch held up a hand. “Hosea, are you seriously going to be suspicious? About  _ this?” _

Hosea wrinkled his nose at him and finally dismounted from Silver Dollar. “Doesn’t this seem a bit too good to be true?”

Dutch side-eyed the festive scene and the easy intimacy shared between men before them for a few long seconds before walking straight up to Hosea, grabbing his face, and standing on tip-toe to kiss him full on the mouth. 

Arthur snorted at the dumbstruck, panicked look on Hosea’s face when Dutch pulled away, and Dutch smirked before drawling, “You are  _ no fun. _ Tell him, Arthur! Tell him he’s no fun!”

“You’re no fun, Hosea!” Arthur teased easily, a goofy grin gracing his face to match Dutch’s.

Hosea was staring wildly around, his hand resting on the hilt of his cattleman, but at their words he  _ scoffed, _ his voice a high falsetto.

“Come on, Arthur!” Dutch called, squatting slightly and gesturing to his back. “Hop on, you and I are going to this goddamn  _ party!” _

Arthur shook his head and laughed. “I’ve got an inch and ten pounds on you!”

Dutch rolled his eyes and mock-groaned. “Oh, because that will  _ surely  _ break my spine. Now quit being a wuss and indulge me in letting you be a damn kid!”

There once was a time where the words  _ Quit being a wuss _ would have sent him deep into his shell, trying his best to be silent and obedient for the rest of the day, but while he did obey Dutch and climb onto his back, it was with a beaming smile and belly-aching laugh. Dutch hitched his legs around his waist, clenched his hands under his thighs, and charged them both off towards the throng with a fond glance at him over his shoulder.

“‘No fun’...” Hosea mumbled, hitching Silver Dollar and Empress. “‘No fun.’ I am too fun.” He looked at Silver Dollar. “I’m fun! Right?”

The colt snorted.

Hosea tssked. “I’m  _ fun.” _ And with that, he stalked off after his two idiots.

A rodeo, as they learned, turned out to be a friendly competition of folks’ range skills, where various cowboys went up against each other in tasks like steer wrestling, team roping, calf roping, bronco busting, barrel racing, and bull riding. By the time Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea all found seats in the bleachers, the last two contestants for steer wrestling were up. Arthur watched the cowboys with wide eyes from his place sandwiched between Dutch and Hosea, breathing  _ “Whoa” _ with a small, awed smile as each man jumped off his horse to tackle the steer and wrestle it onto its back with his bare hands to the hollers of the crowd. Dutch and Hosea were similarly entranced, watching the feats of strength with careful eyes, occasionally glancing down to see how taken the boy was with warm grins.

When the team roping started, Hosea left to go scrounge them up some food, leaving Dutch and Arthur to watch the pairs of men run down cattle, one man roping the steer’s horns and tugging the rope taut to whirl the steer around to face its hindquarters to his friend, who’d then rope the hind legs in mid-air and pull their own rope taut, bringing the steer to a dead stand-still as they faced their horses towards each other and backed up. Arthur whooped and hollered with the rest of the crowd each time a team managed to pull it off, and awed in dismay when the “header” missed or the “heeler” only managed to rope one hind leg. Dutch watched the event with squinting, calculating eyes, his hand over his mouth as he thought. When Hosea finally returned, balancing three bowls of chili, Dutch pointed at the current pair in the ring and went “You and I could totally do that, right?”

Hosea very studiously held out a bowl to Arthur, making sure he didn’t spill the other two. Arthur almost instantly discarded the spoon in his bowl to instead chug the contents as fast as he possibly could, and Hosea’s mouth sagged down into a worried, knowing frown. “Slow down there, son,” he murmured. “Ain’t no one’s gonna take it from you.”

Arthur nodded, but he was already done with the bowl, meat sauce smeared all around his mouth. He licked up what he could, then used his shirt to wipe up the rest, gruffly managing, “Sorry.” The word just seemed to make Hosea’s expression fall more, and Arthur ducked his head. 

Dutch took his own chili bowl and clicked his tongue. “I keep telling you, once he throws up one too many times from doing that, he’ll learn his lesson.” He looked at Arthur and sighed. “You’re gonna have a bad time here in a bit.”

“Sorry,” Arthur said again, automatic, his eyes stinging. He knew Dutch was right and knew that  _ they  _ knew that  _ he  _ knew better, and he  _ had  _ been getting better - meals he shared with just Dutch and Hosea in their camps or in private rooms were able to be savored and enjoyed, but the crowd around him made that old terrified part of his brain switch on as soon as food was near him.

“Anyway, as I was saying-” Dutch continued.

Hosea ignored him to run a hand through Arthur’s hair, finally sitting down beside him and squeezing his shoulder, warm and hard and firm. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said simply, giving Arthur’s shoulder one last squeeze before knocking their shoulders together. “Now, would you like to explain to me what’s going on?”

Arthur slowly perked up, relaxing as he did, and immediately launched into a long-winded explanation about the team-roping going on in front of them along with full recaps of each team that went thus far. All of his attention was passed back and forth between the ring and Hosea, allowing him to miss Dutch’s look of annoyance.

When the calf roping started, however, Arthur’s stomach was cramping more and more and he eventually had to cut off his dump of information to spring up and sprint out of the stands to throw up underneath them. Hosea was there in an instant, quietly asking if he wanted to be touched, and when Arthur emphatically nodded the man’s hands were wrapping around his chest and squeezing him against his side, encompassing and firm, swaddling him in soothing pressure that allowed him to catch his breath. He cleared his throat, spat out the last of the bile, and groaned.

“Here,” Hosea said gently, handing him his waterskin. Arthur gratefully took it and opened his mouth, squeezing water into it to wash out the horrid taste and burn in his mouth and throat, careful not to put his mouth on the mouthpiece. When Arthur was done, he handed the waterskin back to Hosea with a small nod, and the man hummed softly, squeezing Arthur against his side a bit more firmly. “Do you want to leave? It’s okay if you do.”

Arthur huffed a sigh through his nose. “Feel stupid,” he grumbled. “Sorry.”

“You’re  _ not stupid,” _ Hosea drawled. “And again, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

Arthur huffed again and grimaced at the cacophony of sounds around them making him twitch and spasm, but he managed to get out, “Wanna stay.”

“You sure?”

Arthur nodded once, firm.

“Well all right then.” And with that, Hosea walked with him back to their spots in the bleachers, where Dutch was looking at them with worried eyes and a soft frown, any trace of annoyance or impatience gone from his face.

“I told you so,” Dutch said gently when Arthur got close, missing the dagger-sharp glare Hosea shot at him. “You okay, son?”

Arthur huffed again and nodded, sitting down beside Dutch and running his hands over each other repeatedly to try and keep the noises of the crowd from fraying away the last of his resilience. Over, under, through. Over, under, through. 

Dutch hummed, satisfied with the answer. Hosea finally sat back down on Arthur’s other side, and Dutch gave them both a tender smile, his eyes softly crinkled with something bittersweet. “You two are good for each other.”

Both of them relaxed at the words.

When the first gate flew open to reveal a bucking bronc doing its best to throw off a steely determined cowboy, however, Arthur almost instantly forgot all of the prickling unease zinging over his body. He beamed and yelled and cheered and hollered with the rest of the crowd, vibrating excitedly as man after man fought to hang on for eight seconds to the wildly bucking horses. Dutch and Hosea both stared at Arthur more than they stared at the men in the ring, carefully taking in the idolization shining in the boy’s eyes, separate plots brewing behind each of their eyes.

Dutch stood up suddenly, and announced, “Pardon me, gentlemen, but I…” he smirked, almost to himself “...have a  _ plan. _ Watch out for me.”

Hosea instantly tensed. “What are you doing?” Dutch winked at him, an impish glint in his eye, and hurried down the bleachers, almost immediately getting lost in the crowd. Hosea grimaced. “Oh, lord, why do I even try.” 

Arthur giggled. Hosea continued to scowl out at the ring with narrowed eyes, occasionally scanning around for Dutch, and finally as the clowns frantically ran around herding the last bronc back into the roundpen, Arthur elbowed Hosea in the ribs and egged, “C’mon, Hosea, relax! Have some fun!”

Hosea’s scowl deepened. “If I’m no fun, it’s because  _ someone  _ has to counterbalance that crazy bastard.”

The clowns finished setting up the barrels, and then the first rider sprinted out of the starting chute, whirling around the triangle-shaped pattern of barrels and twisting his horse around each one at full speed before extending his horse into a flat-out sprint back into the chute from which they came in a true trial of horsemanship. Arthur was so floored that he pushed himself up onto his knees to yell along with the crowd each time the riders rounded the last barrel and had to bolt back home. 

After four more riders, the announcer called out the name of the last rider.

Hosea clutched Arthur’s shoulder. “Did he just s-”

Arthur’s eyes bulged out of his head and a beaming smile overtook his face.  _ “Dutch?” _ Both of them looked towards the chute, spying Dutch’s white ten-gallon hat, and then all of the sudden Dutch exploded out of the chute atop Empress.

Dutch always prided himself on his master horsemanship, and the man had worked with Arthur for over a year to teach him everything he knew - how to earn a horse’s respect, trust, and ultimately love, how to forge a relationship that would make them give everything they were for him. “A man is only as good as the relationship he has with his horse,” he always said, serious as the grave.

Empress was proving that now, her eyes calm and deadly focused, one ear casually turned back towards Dutch to key into his every command with total faith. The mare tore through the dirt and drifted around the first barrel with clinical precision, then did the same with the second barrel before sprinting to drift around the third. Hosea and Arthur both shot to their feet and screamed  _ “Ride, Dutch, ride!” _

Dutch leaned down far over her neck with a harsh  _ “Hyah!”, _ his eyes shining as bright as his smirk, and the mare shot from the third barrel back through the chute like a bullet from a gun, her legs pumping hard close to the ground, propelling herself at the same breakneck speed she always summoned for Dutch when they were fleeing for their lives. The crowd roared. Arthur excitedly grabbed Hosea’s jean jacket and shook the man wildly in his excitement, barely registering the flush crawling up from the man’s chest to his face as his eyes remained glued to Dutch in the distance, pupils blown wide.

“I see how it is,” Hosea huffed, smiling, rubbing his hand over his stubble and then the back of his neck. “I see. So it’s gonna be like that, huh? Well okay. Okay then.” He looked over at Arthur, his grin absolutely wicked. “I can be fun too.  _ I can be fun.  _ You just wait there.”

And with that, Hosea scampered down the bleachers, almost tripping a couple times in his haste, leaving Arthur to burst into laughter before he, too, disappeared in the crowd.

“So how’d you like  _ that, _ son?!”

Arthur turned to see Dutch stepping up to him, and the boy launched himself up to tackle Dutch in a hug, shaking him. “I think you’re a beautiful, crazy son of a bitch!”

Dutch roared with laughter and clapped him on the back, spinning him around in a circle before dropping him back onto his feet. “Where’d the Old Girl get off to?”

Arthur wheezed and shook his head. “He’s off on  _ some  _ kind of bullshit.”

“Is that so?” Dutch mused with a deep chuckle. He clapped Arthur warmly on the shoulder, and the two men sat back down just as the first bull rider exploded out of the gate under the nearly-setting sun.

The bull violently flung the man off almost immediately, making him land harshly on his side. The bull then lowered its horns and charged at the prone man, only for two rodeo clowns to charge at it, yelling and waving their arms to distract it, as a third clown dragged the cowboy back to his feet and helped him vault over the fence to flee.

Arthur let out a low whistle as Dutch cringed. “Christ.”

The two of them continued to watch the bull riders, Arthur with starstruck awe and Dutch with a kind of morbid fascination, until at last, after four more riders, when the sun was low in the sky, the announcer called out the name of the last bull rider.

Dutch choked and launched himself out of his seat to bound down the bleachers and bolt to the bull gate, Arthur close behind. 

“Hosea,” Dutch barked, jumping up on the fence where Hosea was steadying himself on the back of a huge black bull, Arthur climbing up beside him, “what- If you’re trying to prove something, consider it already proven, friend, now get out of there!”

Hosea simply fixed him with an easy smirk from under the brim of his hat, his eyes dark and glinting. “What? I’m being  _ fun!” _

“Arthur-” Dutch tried, whirling on him, “Arthur, talk some sense into him! Tell him to get out of there!”

Arthur wet his lips as he looked rapidly back and forth between Dutch’s panicked face and Hosea’s toothy smile. Dutch shook his head slightly, but Hosea - well. Hosea just winked.

Arthur never liked going against Dutch, but he could never go against that wink.

“Knock ‘em dead, old man!”

Hosea looked at the rancher holding the latch that held the gate shut.  _ “Pull!” _

The latch made a loud noise as it was pulled loose, and with a violent bash of its horns, the bull flung the gate open.

Arthur and Dutch bolted to the side so they could stare wide-eyed through the fence, and continued to watch in enraptured awe as Hosea rode the furious bucking bull with all the grace of a dancer, his thighs cinched tight around the bull’s ribs, the muscles of his core working overtime, the muscles of his arm holding the latch around the bull’s chest flexing visibly through the sleeve of his jacket as his other arm was arced elegantly over his head. The bull bucked, twisted, jerked, flung itself upwards and side to side, twisting and arcing, but Hosea held on and rode through every motion it threw at him with a self-assured smirk.

“I love that Hosea,” Dutch breathed, voice catching in his throat as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

After what seemed like a small eternity, the whistle finally blew to let everyone know eight seconds had passed. Hosea finally let go, pushing himself off the bull’s back and into the air before landing on his feet, arms held upwards like a headline performer, bowing low with a flourish as the crowd screamed. The bull wheeled around and charged at him, but Hosea simply side-stepped it, allowing the clowns to move in, and as soon as they did he sprinted and vaulted over the fence, landing on Dutch and sending them both crashing to the ground, their hats flying.

Hosea panted for breath and grinned down at Dutch, his eyes still holding that dark glint - kind of similar to the way they got when he threatened men with violence, and they even got like that when he and Dutch fought sometimes, but when they were all warm and open like that instead of cold and closed-off, Hosea looking at Dutch like he was a three-course meal and Hosea was a starving man, Arthur figured the threatening promise held in them wasn’t anything to worry about.

Dutch, for his part, stared up at Hosea as he heaved for breath, his pupils blown wide as his face grew even warmer and redder than it already was, a slow, hungry smile growing on his face, his eyelids drooping.

Whatever spell the men were entering was interrupted when Arthur pounced onto Hosea’s back with a loud, laughing  _ whoop, _ causing Hosea’s expression to snap into one of mild panic as he was squashed down flush against Dutch’s front, Dutch in turn looking like his soul got ejected out of his body as he let out a pained  _ “oof.” _

_ “Goddamn, Hosea!” _ Arthur roared, clapping him hard on the shoulder and hugging him. “That was the best fucking thing I ever seen!”

Hosea wheezed out a laugh and looked up at him over his shoulder, his expression easily shifting into one of those special looks reserved for Arthur, easy and loving. “Still think I’m no fun?”

_ “Hell _ naw!”

Dutch managed to rally himself enough to beam at Arthur and wheeze, “So what do you think of your two mentors, huh?”

Arthur reached down further to wedge his hands under Dutch’s arms, finally sliding off of Hosea’s back to pull both the older men upright, crushing them into a hug. Their arms instantly hugged him back and held him close with no hesitation, their heads nuzzling on either side of his, and Arthur had to close his eyes against the wetness growing under his eyelashes to get out, “I think y’all are... the  _ goddamn best.” _

He wondered, not for the first time, what a life would be like with either one of them as his father - if Dutch was  _ Daddy, _ or Hosea was  _ Pa, _ or even both of them at the same time, able to be there for him since he was a baby. He couldn’t really imagine either of them without the other, or himself without both of them. Dutch and Hosea were a package deal, had been for quite a while before they tackled Arthur in that alley, but sitting in the dirt of that ranch, held between them both as the crowd made their way off the property back to their horses and wagons, he felt - he  _ knew _ \- that he’d become part of that package, too. That they loved him, and that he loved them. 

That they were a family. Blood, or no blood.

\--

“Careful, you’ll wake him!” Dutch whispered.

“I think I  _ know that, _ Dutch!” Hosea hissed back, carefully resituating the boy on his back, arms hanging loose over the older man’s shoulders. Arthur was snoring softly into the nape of Hosea’s neck, expression slack and peaceful.

The two men stepped carefully up the stairs of the dim saloon, mindful of how late it was and how dark it was outside, not wanting to disturb the other residents almost as much as they didn’t want to wake Arthur. Dutch carefully moved up ahead of them and found one of the two rooms they were renting for the night, quietly opening the door for Hosea to bring the boy inside and carefully lay him down on the bed.

“Should we,” Hosea started, hesitant, gesturing at the outerclothes the boy still wore and the boots still on his feet, “just leave him like that?”

Dutch slipped his fingers through Hosea’s belt loops and  _ tugged. _ “Yes,” he whispered against Hosea’s neck. “He’ll be fine, now come  _ on.” _

Hosea let himself be tugged a couple steps towards the door, then lingered again, glancing worriedly back and forth between the two. “What if he wakes up and doesn’t know where we are?”

“He’ll figure it out,” Dutch insisted, voice growing louder with impatience as he yanked on Hosea’s belt-loops again, making the man stumble another step back towards the door. “He’s thick, but he ain’t dumb.”

“But-” Hosea started.

Arthur’s exhausted voice made it over to them, muffled from where his face was pressed into the pillow, “Will you two go fuck already and let me sleep?”

Hosea went white as a ghost, and Dutch’s eyes bugged out briefly before he doubled over in huge guffaws of wheezing laughter. Hosea slapped his ass, making him only laugh harder, and quipped, “I see the gig is up.” He sighed. “Good night, Arthur.”

“G’night,” Arthur mumbled, waving them off. “Just don’t be loud.”

Dutch put himself together enough to wheeze one last final “Good  _ night, _ Arthur,” and with that, he grabbed Hosea by the belt buckle and hauled the man out the door and into the hall, shutting the bedroom door behind them. Arthur heard the lock click and peeked an eye open, spying the room key slide under the door only a second later. Easy trust, easy love. Not trapped, just - cared for.

Arthur huffed a quiet sigh, closing his eyes again, settling further into the mattress with a fond smile.

He felt safe.

And for the first time in his life, Arthur wasn’t surprised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter to my dear and wonderful friend, truly born under a Twin Star, [Toakenshire,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toakenshire/pseuds/Toakenshire) for cheering me on and encouraging me to write all of this absolutely and utterly self-indulgent fluff and smut and for always being willing to duel that dark doubtful part of my brain at high noon. I wouldn't have had the courage to make and share this without you, friend ♥
> 
> And now, for part 2 of this Pride Month tribute~
> 
> **Yeehaw**

As soon as Dutch hauled Hosea through the door of their hotel room, shutting it behind them with shaking hands, Hosea had him pressed up against it with a shining smirk, his hazel eyes twinkling with fondness as he slotted a leg between Dutch’s thighs. “I did quite a number on you, didn’t I?”

Dutch swallowed thickly, his legs quivering at the pressure of Hosea’s thigh against the hard line of his cock in his jeans - and at the memory of that thigh, so toned and shapely, flexed into a steel drum clamped around that bull’s ribs. Everything about Hosea was deceptive that way - toned and angular, long and thin, shaped in a way one might almost call delicate if they didn’t know better. If they didn’t know the wiry strength hidden in those humble muscles, the power hidden in those slender hands. Those masterful, experienced hands that always seemed to know how to take Dutch apart, to leave him a quaking, trembling mess.

Dutch bucked his hips slightly, only to have Hosea  _ roll  _ his hips forward, pinning them to the door, and Dutch could  _ feel  _ the iron of Hosea’s abdomen working to keep him there. Hosea wasn’t even bothering to use his hands, both of them hanging loose at his sides. The bastard.

Dutch suppressed a shiver and met Hosea’s eyes, a low, growling hum crawling up out of his throat as he worked his hands into Hosea’s jean jacket to caress up and down his sides, a sharp smirk of his own gracing his face at the sound of Hosea’s hitched sigh. “Watching you ride that bull looking all slick and cocky…  _ did things _ to me. I’m not used to you being so…  _ adventurous.” _

Hosea chuckled warmly, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose along Dutch’s clean shaven jaw before pausing with it pressed into the hollow under his ear. He raised a hand to massage at Dutch’s hip before saying, voice low and husky, “And watching  _ you  _ blow every other man out of the water in that barrel race, looking like some kind of dream, all radiant and beautiful…  _ powerful…” _ Dutch shivered harder as Hosea leaned back to press their foreheads together, his eyes dark and adoring. “...Did things to  _ me.” _

Dutch lolled his head back and closed his eyes, dragging in shaky breaths as he exposed his throat. Hosea dutifully started nuzzling the arc of his neck, pressing occasional small, chaste nips to it alongside the scrape of his stubble. Dutch cleared his throat roughly. “You know what else-” he started, voice cracking and splitting, going hoarse, “-got to me back there?” Hosea hummed a question, nipping the base of his jaw, making Dutch’s breath hitch. He fluttered his eyes open. “...How good you are with that boy.”

Hosea paused, stilling. After a long moment, he leaned into Dutch and wrapped around him in a warm embrace, nuzzling into his loose black curls with a sigh. “Taking him in was the best call you ever made.”

Dutch made a soft noise, pleased with himself, and embraced Hosea in return. After a long moment, he said, voice gruff yet tender, “My second best was asking you to join me.” Hosea shifted his weight, his breath changing. “There ain’t no other man I’d rather have by my side. To share a future with.” He moved a slow, careful hand to tug on Hosea’s shirt, to palm at his waist. “...Or to do  _ this with,” _ he growled, canting his hips forward to grind purposefully against Hosea’s thigh.

Hosea leaned back away from him to look him in the eye, hungry hazel on starving brown, and it was a testament to how well they’d come to know each other, how thoroughly Hosea had his fingers wrapped around Dutch’s heart, learning it and its deepest desires, that Hosea didn’t kiss him with any soft sweetness or tell him  _ I love you. _ That Dutch didn’t feel inadequate, like he was unfairly robbing Hosea of anything. 

Instead, Hosea whispered, “What do you need,  _ neshama sheli?” _

And Dutch  _ shivered  _ at the Hebrew endearment -  _ my soul _ \- a phrase unbound by romantic restrictions, shared as easily between friends as it was between spouses, but just as powerful in the mouths of each. It was perfect for them and their easy intimacy - neither friends nor lovers, but both and neither. They were… partners. They were  _ home. _

Dutch fisted a hand into Hosea’s hair and clutched at his shoulder, slinging a leg up onto his hip and leaning close up to his ear to rumble “I  _ need… _ to  _ ride you _ like you rode that  _ bull.” _

Hosea smirked and moved his hands down to Dutch’s ass, and that was all the prompting the younger man needed to jump up onto Hosea’s hips and sling his legs around him, crashing his mouth against Hosea’s and prying his lips apart, demanding entrance with a firm press of his tongue only for Hosea to yield easily. Hosea’s hands quickly braced and held him as he widened his stance to accommodate the weight, angling his hips upwards as the muscles in his arms flexed taut, growling deep in his chest with the effort to hold Dutch up, who was three inches shorter but twenty pounds heavier. The rare noise from the blonde made the urgent heat pooled low in Dutch’s belly whip into a frenzy, and his cock pulsed against Hosea’s abs as he let a choked whimper escape his throat for Hosea to swallow down. Hosea staggered backwards, as careful as a man could stagger, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the hotel bed and they went tumbling back onto it, breaking the kiss.

Dutch immediately set to work from his seat in Hosea’s lap, shoving at Hosea’s jean jacket to try and rip it off the man’s arms. Hosea laughed, warm and deep as he kicked off his boots, letting his arms be manhandled so that Dutch could fight the jacket off, purring “Now how are we going to get you opened up enough with that kind of patience?”

Dutch flung the jacket across the room and started furiously unbuttoning Hosea’s shirt, his hands shaking again. “You keep talkin’ like that, Mr. Matthews _ , _ and my patience only gets  _ thinner.” _

Hosea sat up to help him yank off his shirt, revealing his bare chest - and most importantly, that abdomen. Dutch’s hands immediately slotted around the man’s abs to feel the muscles at work holding his torso up off the mattress, and Hosea hummed, arching up into Dutch’s touch as he eased his hands into Dutch’s back pockets. “‘Mr. Matthews’? Oh, am I in trouble?”

“You  _ should be,” _ Dutch growled, shooting him a glare as his hands fumblingly unbuckled Hosea’s gun belt, shoving it over the edge of the bed before popping the jean button open underneath it, ripping the zipper down.  _ “One-upping _ me out there like that with something reckle-”

He yelped as Hosea’s hands shot out of his jeans to grab his shoulder and hip and  _ twisted  _ with a strong buck of his hips, flipping them over in a flash to send Dutch bouncing on his back on the bed, Hosea pinning him down and rolling his hips to drag along the length of Dutch’s cock, making any retaliatory move or complaint Dutch could make fizzle out with a broken, breathy noise.

Hosea hung low over him, the flush across his chest and face on full display along with the curve of his ass from where his jeans and drawers hung low on his hips, glaring down at him with dark, narrowed eyes, his lips parted in a smiling scowl, smug and ravenous. “You’re one to talk,  _ Mr. van der Linde, _ pulling such a power move out there in the first place. After saying I’m  _ no fun,”  _ he rumbled, squeezing his hands tight around Dutch’s wrists. He rolled his hips to drag across Dutch’s cock again, making the man whimper. “Reckless, he says, like I don’t know what I’m capable of.  _ One-upping.” _ He nipped Dutch’s ear, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles over Dutch’s pulse points before breathing, “How could I one-up you in your element, every ounce of you shining like the sun, all eyes within a mile locked onto you in awe and wonder? In _ worship?” _

Dutch slammed his head back against the pillow and  _ squirmed  _ as Hosea continued, nuzzling against his temple, his voice slipping into something close to a whine, “More than a few men were looking at you with lust. Maybe you’d be better off spending the night with them rather than some  _ old spoilsport _ like me… My own Achilles, my King, thinking I’m no fun…”

Dutch bit his lip and squirmed again, shivering from head to toe and panting as he tugged at his pinned hands, turning his head to stare pleadingly into Hosea’s eyes. “No no nonono, you’re fun, you’re fun you’re fun,” he babbled, canting his hips up. “You’re fun and you’re -  _ f-fuck, _ Hosea- Patroclus-  _ schat, _ get - I need you -  _ inside me.” _

A tremor ran through Hosea’s body as he let go of Dutch’s hands, which immediately flew to roam all over the older man’s chest and shoulders and abdomen. Hosea quickly mowed through unbuttoning Dutch’s vest and shirt, looking up at him through his eyelashes to ask, “Do you want me to open you up, dearest?”

_ “Mhmm,”  _ Dutch rumbled, sitting up to help Hosea slide off his shirt and vest in one smooth motion, flinging them gently off to the side and onto the floor. Hosea got Dutch’s gun-belt off just as quick, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans before grabbing one of Dutch’s legs and folding his knee up to his chest so he could tug off the man’s boots, pressing him back down into the mattress as his hands were left with nothing to touch but the blankets underneath them, fisting into them.

“Beautiful,” Hosea murmured, eyes roaming all over the expanse of Dutch’s broad, muscled chest and the thick dark hair that covered it, trailing down across his stomach, the soft layer of fat laid over his tummy bunched up from Dutch’s position, glancing up repeatedly to his face haloed by his long black curls, “beautiful, beautiful, God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Y’know,” Dutch started, his voice cracking and giving out, still shivering as Hosea continued working off his boots and socks, eyes drinking up Hosea, his chiseled face and strong jaw, the sculpted muscles that made up his arms and torso, his sweat-damp blonde hair mussed from its carefully maintained side-part, lingering on the fluff of hair peeking up out of the top of his ever-slipping jeans, “you… in that ring, on that bull? Looked like. Some kind of god.” He shuddered out a breath. “You still do. Like you could be one of those-” his voice broke as Hosea’s hands firmly grabbed the tops of his jeans “-...those marble sculptures of old Greek deities.”

Hosea smiled at him, his eyes shining with an adoring light, before looking back down to  _ yank  _ Dutch’s jeans and drawers down his legs and off to the floor, freeing his cock to spring up, swollen and red and aching, leaking a bead of pre-come. Hosea eased his hands forwards to cradle Dutch’s canting hips and slowly leaned down, breath ghosting over the head of Dutch’s cock - Dutch made a choked noise - before leaning forward to press a heavy kiss into the fluff of Dutch’s hair around the base, making Dutch fling his head back again and bite his knuckle to hold back a loud moan. 

Hosea swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath before nuzzling further into his hair with a soft sigh. “Are you aware of how much I love your smell?” he asked, voice low and husky. “And your  _ pudge?” _ he added, nuzzling up to his stomach.

Dutch made a warbled, strangled grunt, drawing his leg up to hook his ankle over Hosea’s shoulder and pull him closer. “Fucking…  _ fuck me.” _

“Patience,  _ mon tigre _ ,” Hosea chuckled with a wink, but he obligingly slid off of Dutch and pushed himself off the bed, shoving his jeans and drawers the rest of the way down his hips and stepping out of them - Dutch’s eyes immediately locked onto Hosea’s long, hard, slender length - and peeling off his socks before padding over to his discarded satchel, digging around in it for the petroleum jelly. Finally finding the canister, he turned around and - paused, drinking in the sight of Dutch laid out naked on the bed.

“Hosea,” Dutch warned, voice low and trembling as his cock twitched at the sight of those simmering hazel eyes, “I will do, all the rest- by myself- if you don’t get a  _ goddamn move on.” _

“Is that a promise?” Hosea quipped, mouth tugging upwards in a toothy smirk, and Dutch  _ growled  _ in frustration, slamming his head back against the pillow again as he kicked a leg out, making Hosea  _ giggle _ , a deep, sweet, rich sound _. _

The sound made Dutch deflate, and he decided to change tactics. He’d been with Hosea long enough to know how to poke at the carefully maintained control the older man wielded at all times, to snap several of the chains restraining that wild, ravenous part of himself that Hosea hadn’t even known existed before Dutch. The part that Dutch wanted to see if he could last eight seconds on. Slowly, he rolled onto his stomach and carefully pushed himself backwards onto his knees, spreading them wide, his chest and arms mashed into the mattress, and looked over his shoulder to meet Hosea’s eyes before croaking, “Mijn schatje…  _ please.” _

A wheezed breath was jettisoned out of Hosea’s lungs and in seconds the man was on, over, and around him, folded over his back with an arm wrapped around his stomach. “What do you need?” he prompted, voice no longer soft and slow and sweet but firm, hard, and urgent.

“Open me,” Dutch begged, spreading his thighs wider as he shoved his forehead into the mattress, “please.”

Dutch heard the tin pop open, heard the wet sigh of Hosea’s fingers scooping up the jelly, felt the tin be set aside before Hosea’s free hand clamped around his hip. He felt the air get displaced around his entrance before Hosea’s voice came, unsteady and gruff, “Ready?”

“Uh-huh,” Dutch breathed, shivering, and then flinched when he felt the cold jelly and Hosea’s finger probe around his entrance, pushing firmly yet gently, urgent with reverence.

“Just relax, just relax, you’re doing great,” Hosea murmured, and the first finger eased in, making Dutch shudder and gasp, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting filled. “There we go, there we go, good, good.”

“Goddamn,” Dutch wheezed, gasping again when Hosea slowly dragged the finger out and then pushed it back in, “s’been a while since we did this.”

Hosea softly snorted. “It’s been, what - a year?”

Dutch shivered harder when Hosea picked up the speed at which he was pumping his finger, only to be soothed with a heavy kiss to his spine. “Can’t… remember,” he managed, his voice failing him. They both knew the very obvious reason why was sleeping across the hall.

Hosea’s hand clamped down hard around his hip as he rolled his wrist around, easing Dutch open more and more. After a long minute of easy silence, full of nothing but the sounds of Dutch’s quiet pants and the wet sound of Hosea working him, Hosea whispered, “Ready for a second finger?”

“Mhm,” Dutch grunted with a nod, closing his eyes and hitching a breath at the slight sting as a second finger breached him.

“Breathe, Dutch, breathe,” Hosea soothed, keeping still except for moving his free hand up from Dutch’s hip to massage his lower back. After a few seconds, he chuckled, warm and fond. “Won’t be much of a rodeo if you can’t even mount the saddle.”

“You are so  _ clever,” _ Dutch snipped, but he was smiling anyways, relaxing around the fingers.

After several long minutes of Hosea working him open, settling into that soft patient sweetness again as he peppered Dutch’s back with kisses, rubbing his free hand through the hair of his stomach and fluff, Hosea murmured, “Would you like a third?”

Dutch blinked his eyes open from where he’d been lulled into a half-doze, snorting and squinting blearily. He cleared his throat roughly and blinked repeatedly, shaking his head to rouse himself, then as his answer. “I think I wanted the main event a goddamn hour ago.”

Hosea nipped his hip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ve taken you from just two before.”

“Back when we were doing this regularly.”

“It ain’t like I’m gonna go all out right from the get-go!”

“Won’t you?”

“Are you forgetting the fact that I’m the one at risk of tearing here?”

“You tore yourself before because you got so impatient.”

“And you wouldn’t touch me for  _ months, _ believe me, I learned my lesson.” After a long moment of hesitation, Dutch sighed. “...Add a third,” he grumbled. Hosea kissed the base of his spine, adding more jelly to his fingers before pressing all three into Dutch, entering easier than the first two. Dutch sighed rather than gasped, the stretch feeling more pleasant than painful or weird. “Goddammit, if we’re doing three, I really  _ am  _ going all out from the get-go.”

Hosea leaned his head around to meet his gaze, an impish glint in his hazel eyes, and purred, “Ride ‘em cowboy.”

_ “Oh you,” _ Dutch growled, and Hosea giggled again, and he flung his hand back to fondly smack his life-partner in the face with a soft  _ plap.  _

Hosea’s giggle morphed into a belly-deep laugh as he sat up again. He looked down at his work just as his fingers made a particularly wet noise as they pushed into Dutch, and a tremor wracked through his body, his laugh petering out into a gasp. “God, this may turn into a competition of which one of us can last longer than eight seconds.”

“If you finish before I’ve properly had my fun so help me I’ll cut your dick off.”

Hosea gave his ass a sharp  _ smack  _ for the comment, making Dutch jerk and stiffen, clenching around his fingers with a shudder, a drop of pre-come falling onto the blanket. Hosea rubbed out the place he hit in slow, gentle circles, murmuring, “Mind your manners.”

“D- d-d- D-...” Dutch tried, feeling on the brink of coming already, his balls tightening. “D-d-d-...”

Hosea leaned around him again to nuzzle against his side, meeting his eyes again, both of their gazes dark and glinting. “Do you think you have more than one in you tonight?” he gruffed.

“M-m- More?”

“Think you can finish twice?” Hosea clarified.

A violent shiver rolled through Dutch’s entire body. “Y-y-you- C-can-? L-l-l-last?”

Hosea’s eyes crinkled. “I’d do that and a lot more for you, dearest.” Dutch whimpered and rocked back against him, nodding his head emphatically. “Are you ready?” Another nod, and with that, Hosea leaned down far over Dutch’s back and brought his hand up to cover his mouth. “Then come for me, neshama sheli,” he whispered, and with that, he slipped out the third finger to quickly aim the other two and slammed them in to hit that sweet bundle of nerves-

And Dutch  _ screamed, _ shuddering and quaking from head to toe, coming in long ropes onto the blanket, his cock completely untouched. When he finally finished, he went limp, only to be caught by Hosea’s strong arms before he could collapse into his own spend, instead pulled back to be cradled against the older man’s chest, his head lolling back to rest on his shoulder as he dragged in deep, shuddering breaths, all while Hosea whispered a nonstop litany of “Beautiful, beautiful, you did so good, so good, you were amazing, beautiful” into his throat.

Dutch closed his eyes for a long moment, turning his head to tuck his nose against Hosea, breathing in his scent with his gasps for a few long minutes as he returned to himself. Finally, his eyes drifted open again, still blown with lust, his cock still half-hard. He cleared his throat roughly, then slowly ground out in a low growl, “Stand up.”

Hosea quirked his brow up with a smile, but obliged him, sliding off the bed to stand. Dutch slowly crawled off the edge of the bed as well, pushing his weight up and onto shaky, unsteady legs. He braced himself on the mattress, then grabbed the petroleum jelly tin and yanked the soiled blanket off and onto the floor before turning back to Hosea. “Get on the bed.” Hosea sat down on the edge. “Lay down.” Hosea’s smile grew brighter, and he slowly laid down over the sheets, keeping a glinting eye on Dutch. Dutch tossed the petroleum jelly tin to him and ordered, “Slick your cock.”

“As you wish,” Hosea purred, popping the lid of the tin off before gathering up more jelly onto his fingers. He made a show of staring Dutch in the eye as he touched himself, his breath hitching as his head fell back against the pillow, his back arching. He knew exactly what he was doing when he finished the statement with a quiet, breathy,  _ “...Dutch.” _

Dutch clambered onto the bed and straddled Hosea’s hips, swatting the man’s hands away from his own cock. He lifted himself up high onto his knees and stared down at Hosea, who was looking up at him like he was a tall drink of water and Hosea was in the middle of the desert, pupils blown wide. It was Dutch’s turn to smirk. “Think I can last longer than eight seconds, schat?”

Hosea slowly licked his lips and hummed, deep in his throat, before swallowing. “...Show me what you can do.”

And with that, Dutch reached down, grabbed Hosea’s cock, lined himself up, and then swiftly sank down all the way to the hilt, making both men throw their heads back and suck in sharp gasps.

“Fuck,” Hosea choked, clenching his core to keep from bucking.

Dutch trembled for a few long seconds, adjusting to the length and girth of Hosea and the overstimulation of having something inside him so soon after orgasm, before letting out a low, guttural snarl and rolling his hips. Hosea’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his eyelids fluttered shut, but they eased open again, locking onto the image of Dutch’s flexed thighs, of the way his core contracted and expanded as he moved, all concentrated power and muscle. Then, his big, thick, calloused hands eased down to settle over Hosea’s abs, and Dutch rumbled, his eyes dark and ravenous, “Well, what are you waitin’ for? Start  _ buckin’.” _

Hosea shuddered with a choked groan, but then wiped off the last of the petroleum jelly on the sheet to clench his fingers into Dutch’s hips. “Yeehaw,” he rasped, then snapped his hips upwards.

Dutch and Hosea each began moving in earnest after that, roughshod and out of sync at first, but swiftly falling into a beat, into their own rhythm, meeting each other halfway as they always did when they were at their best - moving away from each other one moment, crashing into each other the next, an exchange of slightly disappointed sighs and then ecstatic gasps, of harsh sharp sounds and soft sweet noises, rapid rough movements and slow gentle touches, all their nicknames and endearments and words reduced to the only two they needed:  _ Dutch _ and  _ Hosea. _

After an absolutely incomprehensible passage of time, Hosea started desperately clutching at every inch of Dutch he could reach, his thrusts falling out of their rhythm, becoming uneven and desperate. “Dutch-” he choked, gasped, whimpered, “Dutch- Dutch, I’m close-”

“Touch me touch me  _ touch me-” _ Dutch mewled back, and Hosea did, wrapping his hand around Dutch’s fully hard cock and pumping it in time to their old rhythm even as their hips continued their rough staccato, rubbing his thumb under the head and twisting his wrist as his fist glided up and down its length, drawing out a long, broken, breathy noise from Dutch as his walls started fluttering around his cock.

“Inside?” Hosea wheezed, because that was all they had time for.

_ “Yes,” _ Dutch sighed, darting forward to lock their mouths together, neither one dominating the other but falling into an effortless back-and-forth, and with one final snap of Hosea’s hips and downward grind of Dutch’s, Hosea came, emptying himself inside Dutch in a rush of heat that made Dutch spasm and come onto Hosea’s chest and stomach, both of their shouts and moans muffled by each other’s mouths.

After another absolutely incomprehensible passage of time, they both drifted out of the haze of sated joy and simple peace that orgasm brought them, Dutch collapsed over Hosea as a heavy and soothing weight, Hosea’s arms and legs wrapped around Dutch as a loving encompassing blanket, blinking groggily at each other, their breaths coming slower and slower, deeper and deeper.

“...Howdy,” Hosea greeted hoarsely, smiling, warm and fond.

Dutch snorted softly and returned it. “Howdy, feller,” he slurred.

They chuckled, melting impossibly more.

After another long stretch, once the drying sweat and seed smeared between their chests started getting uncomfortable, Hosea mused, “Time to clean up?”

Dutch hummed. “Mm. S’pose so.” And with that, they both worked together to ease Dutch upwards, Hosea’s soft cock slipping out of him with a quiet sound followed by a dribble of come, making them both shiver one last time, a ghost of heat passing through their bellies one second, gone the next.

Fifteen minutes later, both men were clean and laying in a makeshift nest of spare blankets and pillows on the floor, the bed declared thoroughly unsalvageable, pressed up against each other with lazily tangled limbs, their noses touching as they each drifted off to sleep.

“Hey… Hose…” Dutch murmured.

Hosea peeled an eyelid open. “Mm.”

Dutch let out a huge yawn, then moved his arm more securely over Hosea’s chest as he nuzzled further into the man’s side. “...Love you.”

Hosea knew it wasn’t a declaration of romantic love, knew that he would never have the chance of marriage with Dutch, knew that Dutch could never love him back that way. But quite frankly, with each passing year, Hosea began to wonder more and more what ‘that way’ even was. The companionship he shared with Dutch, the mutual respect and trust and feeling of safety they shared with each other, the moments like tonight they shared - the  _ child  _ they were raising together - all coalesced into something cosmic, something real, something  _ true.  _

Dutch’s arm around him made him feel safe. The boy sleeping across the hall made the three of them a family. And the declaration of love was exactly that:

Love.

Hosea settled under Dutch’s weight and tucked his head under Dutch's chin, closing his eyes. “...Love you too, Dutch.”

The two men smiled to themselves, and fell asleep.


End file.
